


Holding you

by Anonymous



Series: Wee Omens [10]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Age Play, Age Play Little Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Coming In Pants, Deliberate Wetting, Dry Humping, Kink Negotiation, Lots of Dry Humping, M/M, Masturbation, Omorashi, Spanking, Wetting, mentions of spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:54:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Aziraphale can't stop thinking about a strange desire he's always had. Will he be able to ask Crowley for what he wants?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Wee Omens [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1454197
Kudos: 95
Collections: anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

Companionable silence was one of Aziraphale’s favourite things. Sitting on bench in St James' Park, watching the world go by, mostly in silence, with a demon. Standard. 

They occasionally discussed things. They sometimes talked about their friendship and how free they were now to at least spend time together. Spending more than a day apart had become unthinkable. It wasn't a _human_ relationship with goals, or unspoken expectations, or external validations, or intimate physical rituals. They simply stated what they wanted from each other, which was mostly dinner, wine, talking, bitching about their old jobs, and just being _near_ each other. Sex happened, as did picnics or spring cleans, just when it felt like the season. 

The angel smiled happily. 

A excitable little boy of around four was chasing a duck. The duck appeared to have excellent strategy and was certainly not making it easy for the boy to catch up with him. The child tried and tried to outsmart the duck, stepping here and there, but the duck simply had better moves, and the little boy was getting nowhere. 'Duck!' he cried, if if telling off the duck for not cooperating. The boy was wriggling a lot, and then he held himself for a moment before trying to out step the duck once more. 

Aziraphale frowned, then glanced at Crowley to see if he was watching. Crowley was lost in thought watching a heron, no doubt wondering if herons have ears. 

Aziraphale looked back at the boy. He was still holding himself while shifting from foot to foot. He'd cornered the duck by the pond railing, and made a quick run to touch it, but the duck quacked angrily and flapped into the water. The focus of his attention now gone, the child realised his predicament too late. He turned around to look for his parent, clearly desperate to pee. A group of adults was chatting just feet away, but hadn't noticed the boy. 

'Daddy!' he cried out. A wet spot appeared on the front of his shorts and he tried to cover it with his other hand. He held himself tighter and bit his lip. 

‘Oh dear,’ murmured Aziraphale.

‘What?’ asked Crowley, turning to his angel.

‘I think that small child is going to…’

As he said the words, the boys shorts darkened rapidly. The child was like a rabbit in the headlights, staring in disbelief down at his shorts as he thoroughly wet himself, creating a puddle at his feet.

‘Oops,’ said Crowley, amused. 

Aziraphale felt embarrassed for the poor kid. He squirmed. How awful it must be to leak like that and ruin your clothes. 

The father turned and noticed, somewhat exasperated. ‘Oh Toby!’ he chided. ‘That’s why I told you to have a wee at the museum.’

Toby pouted, trying not to cry. ‘I didn’t know it wanted to come out yet!’ he tried to explain. He was promptly led away by his father who continued to lightly scold him, albeit with his arm around him.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley again, who appeared completely disinterested and was back watching the heron. But the angel couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d just seen. Something so private, so intimate. He looked down at his beige trousers and thought about what would happen if that ever happened to him. 

‘Do you think that child will be in trouble?’

‘What child?’

‘That one, who just peed on the ground.’

‘Oh,’ said Crowley. ‘Shouldn’t be. Children have accidents. They misjudge things. Some parents get angry about it but it’s not very fair, in my opinion.’

‘What if the child should have known better?’ asked Aziraphale. ‘Or done as his father said and made sure he went before? Or if he did it on purpose?’

Crowley shrugged. ‘I think having to walk home in wet pants will teach him a lesson. But on purpose, or just being lazy...well.’

Aziraphale was waiting for him to continue.

Crowley looked at him. 

‘Yes?’ prompted the angel.

‘Well, then you might have to discipline them, or even better reward them for staying dry. But you’d have to make sure there wasn’t something upsetting them first, or a medical problem.’

‘Oh,’ said Aziraphale. It felt like a thousand lights were coming on in his head, but he couldn’t understand why. It felt wrong and shameful, and like a private subject that no one talks about, and something experienced by children, not adults. However, all he could think about was what it would feel like, and look like, if he wet himself. And the thought made him shiver.

\--

That night, Aziraphale sat on the sofa reading a book. It was the sort of book that was difficult to find and was shrouded in whispers. It was a _fetish_ book, which made Aziraphale wince with shame. But the stories inside felt so innocent. So gentle. So tender. They spoke of adults choosing to be childlike, and yearning to be handled as such. There was an intimacy to such arrangements which broke his heart. He could never be that human. 

He put the book down and looked at the time. It was 2am, and he'd been reading since late afternoon. He'd also been freely miracling and drinking tea. He shifted in his seat and tried to relax. He knew what he wanted to do, but he wasn't sure his corporation would allow it. He held the outline of his penis through his trousers. He did need to relieve himself, and he'd been ignoring that call for some time. He sighed. His entire abdomen was tense as all hell, or rather heaven. He decided to give up on his attempted misadventure and stand, but as soon as he did, he was arrested by a spasm. He froze, then quickly sat down. He focused on relaxing those very muscles that had prevented him from standing, and it was with a rush of ecstatic relief that he started to wee in his clothes. 

He groaned loudly, then looked down to see his trousers darken, and a growing puddle collecting on the couch. It was hot, and the sensation of release was delightful. Heat cascaded through his underwear and under his bottom. He wiggled in it. Even the hiss of liquid saturating material was quiet - private. Eventually, he was done. He'd been _naughty_. He stood, and examined the damage. The material of his trousers clung to his legs, and the cool air stole some of the warmth. He rustled over to the long mirror and gasped. The crotch of his trousers were completely soaked in an unmistakable, telltale pattern. He turned around to look at his rear. A large oval wet patch had spread over his bottom and thighs, down to his knees. So naughty. What if he was caught like this? He shuddered. But what if _Crowley_ caught him like this? To that, he shivered.

He blushed. He had wet himself and liked it. The bliss of release. The secrecy of it. He felt little and weightless and longed to be cared for. But then he saw his face in the mirror. What was he doing? 

He quickly miracled away all traces of his 'accident', and put the book back in the drawer which had a lock. He went to bed, where he lay awake, thinking too much. 

  
Some weeks went by. Crowley appeared to be getting quite short-tempered with his angel.

'Why are you cross with me?' whined Aziraphale one day.

Crowley glared at him. 'Because you're not here. You're not with me. You're distracted all the time but whenever I ask you what's wrong you won't tell me. I might as well be in Alpha Centuri or talking to the speaking clock.'

Aziraphale looked rather sheepish. 'Oh,' he said, looking at his shoes. 'I'm so very sorry, my dear. I'm a little preoccupied...'

'With what?' prompted Crowley. 'You can tell me anything. Are you in trouble? Is heaven threatening you? Have you scratched my car?'

'Oh heavens, no,' said the angel. 'Though I don't think I'd have the courage to confess to such a thing if I did.' His eyes twinkled and he smiled at his demon.

'Then what?'

'It's personal. And delicate. And embarrassing.'

Crowley frowned. 

'And er, it's a... _fetish_ thing.'

Crowley’s eyebrows went as high as they could get, and his mouth fell open in happy, and proud, amazement. 'Ah brilliant? Which one is it?'

'I don't know if there's a name for it. I know some humans like it, so it's not just an angel thing. And I suspect that, as an angel, it shouldn't be something I like. Also I don't understand if it's sexual exactly. I just...want it.'

'What _do_ you want?' asked Crowley.

Aziraphale took a deep, shaky breath. 'I want… I want to wet… myself.' He watched Crowley's face for signs of disgust, or disappointment, or of calling Gabrielle to report an insane angel.

Crowley cocked his head but continued to listen. 

Aziraphale continued. I want to wet my pants, because, I can’t help it.. And I want you to…’

‘...to?’ encouraged Crowley softly.

The angel looked down at his fidgeting fingers. ‘To punish me,’ he said, coy blue eyes flitting upwards to watch Crowley’s reaction. 

‘I see,’ said Crowley, very gently. ‘And how do you think you should be punished?’

‘I think…’ the angel began. He gestured casually to Crowley’s lap. ‘Put me over your knee, and…’

‘...smack your bottom?’ finished Crowley, with some delight.

Aziraphale nodded solemnly. 

‘Ah, I see. I think I know what this is. C’mere angle.’ He held out his hand, and Aziraphale reacted as if it would hurt him. Crowley chuckled. ‘No, silly. I’m not going to punish you right now. You haven’t even done anything. Just come sit with me.’

Aziraphale went to him, and Crowley hoisted his tubby friend onto his lap. They often did this for each other in an act of comfort, though Aziraphale had never really worked out how to ask for it.

Crowley spoke as if he were a doctor giving a diagnosis. 'First of all, what you want is pretty common.'

'It is?'

'Yeah. Spanking anyway. And then the omorashi…'

'The what?'

'It’s Japanese. It means to wet yourself. And as a sexual fetish, it means to gain arousal from a full bladder, and/or wetting yourself. Or seeing someone else do it.' 

'And you know about it?'

'I’m a demon. I’m supposed to pray on people’s shame. And if you ask me, there’s the reason there’s no word for it in English. Bloody British are so repressed.'

'So it’s not… _watersports_?' he said it with some distaste. Each to their own, he'd thought, but that wasn't want he wanted. 

'Well someone’s been googling,' teased Crowley. 'No - that’s more to do with actually pissing on each other, or drinking it, or just playing with it. Golden showers and all that.'

'Yes, that’s not what I... want.' 

Crowley snorted. 'Well I’m glad we cleared that up before I peed on you.' 

Aziraphale gave him a look and the demon gave him a reassuring squeeze.

'It's also about relaxation, anxiety, and feeling safe. Sounds like you just want a release of tension. And an abdication of responsibility. I totally get it.'

'Well at least I know what I should read up on now.'

'Indeed. Knock yourself out. But I have a question. I’d like you to tell me truth if you can.' He kissed his angel's cheek and Aziraphale felt giddy. ‘Have you been doing this, angel? Have you been playing?’

Aziraphale squirmed. He wanted to be truthful but everything raged against it. So he remained quiet and hung his head.

'Hmm. I think you’ve been naughty. Been leaving it too late? Weeing in your seat? Feeling warm and fuzzy after?'

The angel felt very warm, and his pants felt very tight, and he knew he was very pink. He had, over the past few weeks, been _playing_ , as Crowley called it. And he certainly did feel warm and fuzzy after. 'I...' he began. 'Tried it.'

'Okay, said Crowley softly, planting another delicate kiss on the warm, red cheek of his cherub and hugging him tightly. 'And after you've wet yourself, do you feel a bit guilty?'

Aziraphale nodded. 

'So you think you'd feel better about the whole thing if there was someone there to care for you, and discipline you?'

'Only gently, but yes. And then...' he trailed off, wiggling in Crowley's lap. 'Just over my trousers.'

'Aha. And then?'

'I feel completely safe. Safer than anything, ever.'

'And what about him?' asked Crowley, nodding at the tent in the angel's crotch. 'Does he get involved or not?'

'The Angelito?' beamed Aziraphale. 'He likes being safe too. And he likes it when I've wet my pants. He likes it so much he gets excited very quickly. But he likes to stay inside and not come out.'

'Okay. And what happens to him if you're having your bottom spanked?'

Aziraphale's breath was growing unsteady, and a small circle of wetness appeared where the tip of his erection was straining against the material. Crowley noticed and gave his angel a look.

Aziraphale was rocking his hips. The wetness was growing. 'He's rubbing. He needs to rub.'

'Is he rubbing against me? My lap? Right here,' asked Crowley. There was a sternness to the question, suggesting that it would be rather a naughty thing to do.

The angel nodded, breathing ragged. 'He can't help it. The angelito needs...' he gasped, no longer able to resist wrapping his hand around his clothed, leaking erection. 

Crowley kissed him on the cheek again - it was his favourite thing to do after all. He wrapped his own hand around the angel's. 'I think he just needs to feel good, but the poor angelito is stuck with someone who overthinks everything, and just needs to be set free.'

Aziraphale thrust his hips wantonly, and felt a firm thumb stroke over the tip of his penis, then cried out as he came in his pants. Angelito pulsed and pulsed, delighted to finally be heard.

The angel slumped against his demon, some urgency now abated, and let peace descend for several long moments. He sat up with a wriggle a few minutes later.

'Now, now, angel,' chided Crowley. 'You've made quite a mess of yourself.'

Aziraphale grimaced, then clicked his fingers. He looked at Crowley. 'Was that all right?' he asked, eyes searching.

'Are you kidding?' asked Crowley. 'You can do that whenever you want.'

Aziraphale grinned broadly, and kissed Crowley on the cheek. 'Thank you. But, you don't mind... the other stuff?'

'We just need to be clear about what we're doing,' said Crowley. 

'I've been reading a book,' said Aziraphale bravely. 'There are things in it that I like.'

'Ah. Do you want to go and get it?'

Aziraphale hopped off of Crowley's knees and went to his drawer. Crowley watched with delight as his angel guiltily unlocked the drawer, and returned with a black hardback book with a blank cover. The demon patted his lap to indicate Aziraphale should return to his position, and they opened the book together.

Aziraphale's heart raced and raced and Crowley glanced through the chapter titles and story summaries. 'I'm sorry I couldn't tell you,' croaked the angel. 'I thought you'd be disgusted.'

'I'm not,' said Crowley, matter of factly. 'Nothing you do disgusts me. And if there's anything we can do, such as a game we can play that would make you happy, that's what I want too. We just need to have a good talk about it first.'

Aziraphale rested his head in the crook of Crowley's neck. 'I trust with you anything,' he murmured. Crowley responded by nuzzling him for several seconds, then rubbing his tummy.

'Another word for this sort of game, is Age Play,' explained Crowley. 'It’s when people like to play, or just _be_ , in a sort of younger headspace. One where they don’t have to worry about anything, and be little, and loved, and cared for. They hand over control to someone they trust - maybe for an hour, maybe for a weekend, or maybe forever. And yes, that control can include bladder control. It’s like a state of bliss.

‘Oh,’ said Aziraphale. So there _were_ words for these things. 

Crowley gave him another little squeeze. ‘It makes sense if my angel is getting bogged down by the world and its problems, he might want to disappear into a smaller, younger, headspace.'

‘But isn’t it… wrong to conflate such desires with… childhood things?’

‘We’re not talking about kids, Aziraphale. We’re talking about your adult choices and your inner child. And I suspect, we’re also talking about where I fit in. And I’m not a child.’

‘Oh!’ said Aziraphale, pulling a face. ‘I see.’

‘Yes. Don’t worry. You’re not a paedophile.’

Aziraphale wiggled his toes. 

‘If this is what you want, angel, we can do it,’ said Crowley. He ushered the angel off his lap and stood up. 

Aziraphale glanced about nervously as Crowley peered at him. ‘But I think you’re forgetting something, angel.’

‘What?’ 

‘Demonic miracles,’ said Crowley with an evil grin. He snapped his fingers, and Aziraphale was suddenly less than 3ft tall, albeit perfectly proportioned. He was still a 6,000 year old angel, just pint-sized.

The angel gasped.

‘How does that feel?’ asked Crowley, bending down with his hands on his knees to read Aziraphale’s expression. 

‘I’m little,’ said Aziraphale.

‘Yes you are,’ cooed Crowley. ‘So cute.’ He pinched Aziraphale’s cheek very gently.

‘We can’t!’ said Aziraphale.

Crowley straightened up. ‘Fine. I’ll change you back.’

‘No no!’ squeaked Aziraphale. ‘Not yet.’

Crowley smirked. ‘Any time you want to be big again let me know. Heaven won’t find out because it’s not your miracle. And you deserve a little time off.’ He ruffled Aziraphale’s hair. 

‘Now, this book had some very good ideas about what to do with a Little. Maybe I can read you a story from it.’

He sat down on the sofa with the book, and little Aziraphale clambered up to see and sat primly on the sofa.

Crowley beamed at him. ‘Why don't you show me the stories you like best, and we can use them for inspiration. And you can let me know what you want or don't want. And if you want to be big or little for those things. That all right, angel?’

‘Yep,’ said his angel sweetly, good as gold. 

‘Then let’s begin.’ 


	2. Trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is enjoying being Master Crowley's Little Angel, even when he gets into trouble for eating cookie dough. After a little while of feeling perfectly safe, it's time to explore his deepest desires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some very sweet non sexual age play (including a very mild spanking) in the first half for those of you who prefer things that way.
> 
> And then... it develops. And is less mild.

Being physically little was a lot of fun. It made Aziraphale feel wonderfully safe, and he adored being picked up. He was so lucky, thought the angel, to be able to extend his headspace to his corporation.

To Crowley, Aziraphale looked like a baby-faced cherub whatever his age or size. However, they agreed it might be disconcerting to see a miniaturised angel out and about, so they made sure to return to the angel’s default size whenever they left the shop. 

This didn’t stop Aziraphale from feeling adorably little on the inside, though. 

So for outings, Master Crowley took his little angel for walks in the park to feed the ducks. They ventured into a variety of bookshops in London, so Aziraphale could grade them out of 10 (none of them ever got more than a 5), which he recorded on a chart. Master Crowley was good at sneaking them into the Science Museum so they didn’t have to wait in crowds. And if Aziraphale promised not to fidget, he was allowed to go to the Royal Albert Hall and listen to his favourite music. Carnival of the Animals always delighted him.

He was a good little angel, never any trouble. He thought it would be fun to be mischievous but never really got beyond tying Crowley’s shoelaces together, or tickling him when he was asleep. They had discussed and agreed what would happen if he misbehaved, but that in of itself made an anxious angel feel safe and secure.

He enjoyed his cosy food and treacle puddings and was often happily preoccupied in putting books back in their rightful positions after visitors to the bookshop had disrupted the order (using the ladder chair when he was 3 ft tall).

The little angel was in heaven. Not actual heaven, because that was tedious, bureaucratic, and clinical. But the sort of heaven he hadn’t even dared to imagine. 

One day, he did test Master Crowley, who otherwise indulged his angel and was softer than either of them expected. He didn’t mean to, but, as you might expect, food was involved.

Aziraphale had wanted to make cookies the human way. He was little on the outside as well as the inside, standing on a stool, and mixing ingredients together with a wooden spoon. Master Crowley had pre-heated the oven (demonic finger snap) and all the angel had to do was spoon out the mixture. He wiggled, as he often did when he was thinking about nice things. It was early evening and he was getting hungry for dinner, but he shouldn’t spoil his dinner. He calculated that a spoon full of mixture would be okay, and heaping it on, shovelled the raw cookie dough in his mouth at the same time as Crowley came in to check on him. 

_ Caught red handed.  _

‘Angel!’ said Crowley, in a scolding tone, putting his hands on his hips. ‘You promised not to eat the mixture.’

‘You said I could lick the spoon!’ protested little Aziraphale, through the sticky dough in his mouth. 

‘You lick the spoon  _ after _ you’ve finished spooning out the mixture and the cookies are baking, and you get a taste, not a mountain of it.’

Aziraphale very quickly gobbled down what he’d put in his mouth and began methodically spooning the mixture onto the tray in measured doses. He gave Crowley a contrite look. 

‘That’s better,’ said Crowley. He left the angel to it and went back to choosing a bottle of red to go with dinner. He selected something Spanish that reminded him of a temptation in Galicia, and returned to the kitchen to ask Aziraphale if he wanted to be big and have wine with dinner.

Caught red handed again - at least Crowley assumed so. The guilt was palpable. His naughty little angel had another mouthful of dough, and there were only 8 heaps of dough on the tray, not the 12 expected. 

‘Aziraphale!’ scolded Crowley. ‘Go and wait for me by the couch!’

The angel scurried to obey, still chewing and swallowing as he went. Crowley ensured the cookies were in the oven and followed his angel.

The 3 feet of guilty angel was wringing his hands. ‘Sorry!’ he said quickly. ‘It was just so yummy!’

Crowley plonked the wine down and sat on the couch, glaring at Aziraphale. ‘You disobeyed me and you’ve probably spoiled your dinner! Not to mention it’s raw cookie dough and it can make you very sick. Come here.’

He caught little Aziraphale around the waist.

‘No no!’ squawked the angel. 

Crowley stopped what he was doing and fixed his little one with a glare. He gently traced Aziraphale’s dramatic pout with his finger. ‘Angel,’ he began quietly. ‘What did we say happens if you disobeyed me, if you’ve already been told once?’

The pout deepened. There was a wiggle. ‘I couldn’t help it,’ explained the angel.

‘Oh  _ really _ ? So you accidentally ate  _ four _ spoonfuls?’

The little angel bit his lip. ‘No,’ he said sheepishly. ‘I didn’t want to stop.’

‘That’s better,’ said Crowley. ‘I know you didn’t mean to fib to get out of trouble.’

The baby blue eyes widened in horror. Oh dear. It was a little fib, wasn’t it. He shook his head quickly.

Crowley tried not to laugh. ‘So what do you think I should do now?’

Aziraphale looked down at the floor, then back up at his Master Crowley. ‘You should spank me, because I was naughty.’ He said it very bravely.

Crowley thought he might die. The cutest cherub doing exactly what a cute cherub would do, if a cute cherub was making cookies. Still, he supposed, cute cherubs need to do as they’re told. 

He leaned forward and kissed Aziraphale on the cheek. ‘Good boy,’ he said softly. ‘That’s my good angel.’ He took a little warm hand, still with traces of chocolate chip on it, and gave it a squeeze. The squeeze was returned, as was their signal. 

Crowley then hoisted up his pouting angel and deposited him on his lap, where the little miscreant tried very hard to be compliant. 

‘I’m here to watch over you,’ said Crowley sternly. ‘So you are not going to get away with things like that. 

He landed four firm swats over the angel’s trousers, eliciting a squeak on each one, then picked him up and gave him a kiss and a cuddle. ‘My little angel,’ cooed Crowley. 

‘Sorry,’ said Aziraphale, though he couldn’t help but notice the delightful smell of baking cookies. 

Crowley held him for a little longer before the cookies needed taking out of the oven, and the dinner needed preparing, and then with a good hour before dinner would be ready, a chastised and clingy angel cuddled up to his demon.

He felt safe, snuggly and cosy, lying in the arms of someone who was watching over him. It was perfect. 

-

Crowley was stroking his hair, and Aziraphale couldn’t imagine being anywhere else in the universe. He shifted against Crowley, feeling faintly amorous, and recognised a familiar pressure in his groin. It was pleasant and fuzzy, but also pressing. He needed a wee. 

He wriggled. 

‘I want to be bigger again now,’ he murmured to Crowley. 

‘Oh,’ said Crowley, sounding a little disappointed. ‘Okay. Of course.’

‘Oh don’t be sad,’ said Aziraphale. ‘It’s just that I want to do… big things.’

‘Ooohh,’ said Crowley, snapping his fingers quickly. 

Standard issue Aziraphale was back in the room, and just as cute, really. He stood up and stretched out, flattening down his crumpled clothing. 

‘Hi,’ said Crowley.

‘Hi,’ said Aziraphale sweetly, shifting his weight. ‘Thank you for taking good care of me. I’m sorry I misbehaved.’

Crowley grinned. ‘Don’t be. It was cute. I didn’t spank you too hard?’

‘No, no!’ said Aziraphale. ‘It was just right for my stature. And my… spirit. Maybe I…’

He was wiggling and biting his lip. 

‘What is it?’ asked Crowley suspiciously. 

‘I, um…’ he shifted his weight again, onto his other foot.

‘Have you done something and not told me?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘What is it?’ pressed Crowley.

Aziraphale responded by squeezing his penis through his trousers. ‘Nothing,’ he lied.

‘Aziraphale…’ Crowley warned. 

The angel gasped and pressed his thighs together, both hands now clutching himself. ‘I need a wee,’ 

Crowley sat up. ‘Then go to the toilet!’

‘I can’t. It’s too late,’ Aziraphale said desperately, bending a little at the knees. ‘I’m doing it.’ 

‘Angel! That’s…’ Crowley stopped talking. There was a faint hissing and a wet circle bloomed in the angel’s crotch. 

‘Angel!’ scolded Crowley, though he couldn’t stop staring at the spreading stain. It covered the front of the beige trousers and started to seep down his thighs in dark streaks. 

Aziraphale continued to wiggle, despite clearly being unable to stop wetting himself. He crossed his legs, but soon his resistance ebbed away. He moaned at the relief, deep sighs and the sound of liquid pattering on the floor being the only sound. 

Crowley watched in shock. The look of peace on his angel’s face was… mesmerising. 

‘Oh dear,’ whined Aziraphale. ‘I should have gone sooner. Please don’t be angry with me.’

Big blue eyes pleaded with the demon. Aziraphale shook one leg and smoothed out his wet trousers. It appeared to Crowley that he’d finally finished wetting. 

‘Come here,’ said Crowley sternly. 

His angel pouted. 

‘Now, angel. That was very naughty. Come here.’

Aziraphale whimpered very softly, but obeyed, and stood, contrite, in front of Crowley. They squeezed hands again. ‘Sorry. It happened ever so suddenly,’ said the angel innocently. 

‘No it didn’t,’ chided Crowley severely. He grabbed his wet angel and dragged him forward and over his knees. 

‘Oof!’ exclaimed Aziraphale, wriggling in the demon’s lap. 

Crowley could feel the warm wetness through his jeans. It felt… surprisingly not icky. ‘You’ve been a very naughty angel,’ he scolded. You need your bottom smacked properly.’

Aziraphale squeaked in anticipation, and then gasped as the first swat came down on the seat of his trousers. Crowley was no longer being gently with his ‘little’. 

‘No!’ sobbed Aziraphale. Another firm swat followed, with Crowley holding him securely and bringing his palm down a good ten times. 

Aziraphale squirmed breathlessly, and Crowley let him. The angel’s movements became rhythmic, his breaths deeper and more urgent, and something hard rubbed against Crowley’s thigh. 

It was transpiring just as Aziraphale had described. The need of the angel was intoxicating. He humped freely for a little while, happy in Crowley’s lap. Crowley could only watch, dazed with arousal at the sight of his little angel chasing such a decadent orgasm. 

Rather endearing little noises preceded a warning of, ‘I’m going to come!’ before he started to buck and gasp. 

Crowley stroked his hair and prevented him from falling off his thighs. ‘That’s my angel. C’mon. It’s going to feel soooo good.’

A shout from Aziraphale followed by deep groaning (and some very deliberate hip rolling) signalled the obvious, and the angel eventually stilled in Crowley’s lap, breathing heavily.

‘Come ‘ere,’ said Crowley softly, helping his angel to a more comfortable position beside him on the couch. He kissed him on the forehead. ‘Better?’ he asked sweetly. ‘As good as in your head?’

‘Very good,’ breathed Aziraphale. ‘Sorry I’ve made such a mess.’ 

‘It’s as expected,’ said Crowley, running his hand down to touch the angel’s crotch. It was wet and sticky. He tutted. ‘Fuck,’ he intoned. ‘That was…  _ bad _ .’ He kissed Aziraphale. ‘You bad, bad angel.’

‘Do you want to…?’ suggested Aziraphale, taking in Crowley’s blown pupils and shallow breath.

‘Oh yeah,’ said Crowley, rolling over and pressing himself against Aziraphale’s thigh. He ground his hips and moaned. ‘Oh this isn’t going to take long,’ he said, thrusting again.

‘Hmm,’ said Aziraphale, sleepily encouraging his demon and rubbing his back. ‘Come on. Be a wicked, horny demon and hump your angel’s leg.’

Crowley groaned and rolled his hips, gripping the sofa for leverage. He screwed his eyes shut, seeing Aziraphale  _ wetting himself _ in his mind’s eye, then the cute little spanking he gave him, then the depraved rutting… and lo, the demon was rutting too.

‘Ah fuck,’ he muttered and muttered. ‘Ah FUCK…’

‘That’s it,’ soothed Aziraphale. ‘You need it, don’t you.  _ My _ demon.’

‘You peed your pants,’ moaned Crowley. 

‘Yes, I did,’ answered the angel in a thick, low voice. ‘It felt good. Especially knowing you were going to spank me for doing it.’

‘Uh!’ cried Crowley, his movements frantic. ‘You fucked my thighs!’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘So.  _ Fucking _ . Horny!’ 

‘ _ Yes. _ ’

Crowley grunted and grunted, and humped and humped, nuzzled his angel’s neck and felt his cock throb against his underwear and fly, with just enough dampness to provide the perfect friction. 

‘I’m coming!’ he cried. The angel felt a hot, wet addition to his thigh seeping and spreading, and he shivered with delight, as Crowley ground hard against him and moaned loudly. He was breathing hard, lying on his angel, his hips occasionally twitching and the rest of him boneless. He gave a happy sigh. A warm hand was stroking his hair. 

‘I didn’t think I’d be quite so into that,’ he said after a while. ‘There’s kinks. And then there’s  _ you _ having a kink.’ He lazily rolled his hips, then moved down and off Aziraphale, so he was lying on his front between Aziraphale’s legs with his arms around the angel’s waist, and his face resting on the soft belly; the couch taking the brunt of his weight rather than the poor angel’s leg.

‘Hmmm. Don’t overthink it, my dear,’ said Aziraphale, a little wickedly. 

Crowley looked up and shot him a warning glare. ‘Happy to administer another spanking, angel.’ It wasn’t much of a threat. 

‘I hope so,’ said Aziraphale, his eyes gleaming. He gave the demon a pat on the bottom, which elicited a muffled grunt. However, Crowley was far too relaxed to complain. He gave another long, happy sigh. 

‘Thank you,’ said the angel, after a few moments. 

‘Mmmmf,’ said Crowley. 

After another contented exhale, it sounded like the demon was falling asleep. 

‘Perhaps,’ mused Aziraphale, unsure if Crowley was still awake, next time I could watch you, you know. Wet yourself.’ He blushed, and looked down at Crowley.

To his surprise the demon looked up at him with a smirk. ‘Oh, angel. You should have said if you wanted to watch,’ he wiggled his bottom and flashed his eyes. 

Aziraphale gasped. ‘You haven’t!’

Crowley groggily lifted himself up to reveal a very large wet patch on the couch where he’d been lying, and a corresponding dark stain on his jeans. ‘Needed to go. Didn’t wanna move. Gonna spank me, angel?’ he teased. 

‘Naughty thing,’ scolded Aziraphale, trying not to show how delighted he was. ‘Let’s clean up before it gets… human. And then... we should talk.’

Crowley grinned, and got up on all fours to lean forward and kiss his angel on the lips. And then again. And then just another peck. And then he snapped his fingers.

There was a strange, breezy sensation and then a refreshing lightness, like linen drying in the warm sun meeting freshly bathed and lotioned skin.

They giggled at each other as they disentangled and became decent once more.

‘I’ve got so many ideas,’ said Aziraphale, straightening his bowtie.

‘So have I.’ said Crowley. ‘But for now I’d like you to dine me and wine me.’

‘And then there are cookies!’

‘Hmmm,’ said Crowley, giving his angel an admonishing look. ‘Not as many as there should be, eh?’

Aziraphale blushed. ‘Exactly as many as there should be,’ he said happily. ‘When one is living with a little angel.’

And they kissed until the oven bell rang.


End file.
